“It’s not awkward. You’re making it awkward,” I snap at her.

  I never should have brought her.

  She points at her chest with her breadstick. “I’m making it awkward? Uh, no. You two can barely look at each other. Let’s just get it out in the open.” Scarlett taps Deacon on the hand with her breadstick and then points to me. “This one right here? Issues. Okay? She doesn’t know what she wants and even though you’re a great guy, you’ll only get hurt in the end.”

  “Scarlett—”

  “It’s true.”

  “Yeah, but we already talked about it . . . sort of.”

  Deacon clasps his hands together and like the kind soul that he is, he says, “Even though it would be awesome if Indie was interested in dating, I know that’s not the case. Linc warned me, and I still tried. But at least I gave it a shot.”

  “Hold up,” I say, sitting taller. From the corner of my eye, I see Scarlett’s lips stretch into a full-on grin. “Lincoln warned you to stay away?”

  “What? No.” Deacon shakes his head. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He’s backtracking, I can hear the fear in his voice. “I was just asking him about you because I saw how he looked at you. Anyway, he just mentioned that you might not be interested in a relationship.”

  “He said that?”

  “Uhh . . . something like that. He was nice though, told me maybe I might be the one who could change your mind. Not that I have those powers, but you know, maybe you would be open to me, but we know that’s not the case and Jesus Christ, I’m actually sweating.”

  “Oh this is so much fun. I’m glad I came,” Scarlett says, chewing loud enough for the table next to us to hear.

  “Please don’t be mad at him. He didn’t do anything wrong, and I never should have said anything.” Poor Deacon, an innocent slip of the tongue and his brow is breaking out in a sweat. See? Too nice for me.

  “It’s fine,” I say, even though it doesn’t feel fine in my chest. I want to leave this restaurant right now and charge toward Lincoln’s house to confront him. I don’t need him speaking on my behalf, especially about my dating life. But poor Deacon looks like he’s about to have a nervous breakdown, which is why I find myself saying, “It’s cool. No problem. We’re here because we’re friends and we’re hanging out, trying to figure out who would be perfect for Deacon.”

  “Uh-huh,” Scarlett says, annoyingly. I kick her under the table, and she buckles over.

  “Oh sorry, was that your shin?”

  “You know damn well it was,” she says through clenched teeth.

  Just then, the pizza arrives and we clear the center of the table to make room for the giant pie.

  Before we dig in, Deacon clears his throat and says, “Maybe we should start this dinner over.” Addressing Scarlett he says, “You scare me.” She laughs out loud. And then he turns to me. “We’re friends.”

  “Could not have said it any better.”

  Picking up a piece of pizza, he says, “Now tell me about this freshman who clocked you in the head; is she hot?”

  “She’s hot for sure,” Scarlett says with a teasing voice. “But she’s also a lesbian, so I don’t think your burly man bod is going to do it for her.”

  “Okay, next.” He chuckles and we start going over the single girls on our team.

  We spend the rest of the night pulling up pictures on our phones, getting a feel for Deacon’s type, and diving deep into his need to be in a relationship. He really enjoys spoiling his girl, doting on her, and even though I’m not there with him, it does make my heart grow fonder of Deacon. I want to find him the perfect person.

  Deacon and I split the bill—I made him—then Scarlett goes to the bathroom while Deacon and I head out to the front of the restaurant to wait for her.

  “Do you think Kennedy will be at the party this weekend?” Deacon asks about the girl we all agreed upon for him.

  “I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Thanks.” He pulls me into a hug and kisses the top of my head. “I’m really grateful that we could be friends, Indie.”

  I look up and prop my chin on the barrel of his chest. “I am too.”

  “Uh, hey.”

  Deacon and I both turn to see Lincoln standing in a pair of sweats, wearing a Brentwood Baseball shirt and a hat that makes his eyes almost impossible to see.

  “Hey man,” Deacon says, releasing me.

  Lincoln looks between the two of us and clears his throat while pulling on the back of his neck and looking at the ground. “Picking up pizza for the guys. If I knew you were here, I would have made you bring it home.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that.”

  Silence falls between us, and it has officially become the most awkward moment of my life.

  “Haven’t seen you around,” Lincoln says to me.

  “Busy,” I answer, feeling this need to yell at him for some reason, a reason that I need to go home to dissect, not act on right now. If he asked me what was wrong, I’d have no idea how to explain it.

  “Well, guess I’ll get the pizza.”

  “Okay, see you at home,” Deacon says, giving him a wave as Lincoln pushes past us. When Lincoln is out of sight, Deacon releases a pent-up breath and says, “That interaction just made my balls shrivel up.”

  “Thank you for the comedic reprieve.” I let out a low laugh and take in a deep breath as well. “That was weird, huh?”

  “Really weird.”

  He goes to say something else, but I press my hand to his chest and cut him off. “Can you make me a promise, as your friend?”

  “Uh-oh, the friend card is being pulled already?” When I nod, he says, “What is it?”

  “Don’t talk about me to Lincoln. Things are weird already with him and having a third person in the mix would just make it worse.”

  “Could not agree more.” Deacon pretends to wash his hands and then holds them up. “I’m stepping away. Whatever is between you two, is between you two alone.”

  “Thank you.” I give him another hug. “And for the record, there is nothing going on.”

  He smiles. “Okay, Indie.”

  We head in different directions, as I text Scarlett to meet me at home, I keep thinking about how much I do not want to see Lincoln walk out with those pizzas. And even though I often want to be around him, right now, I’m too . . . confused. And does he really make my eyes sadden? Is that actually a thing?

  Later that night, after I’m tucked into bed, ready to set my alarm, my phone vibrates in my hand.

  Lincoln: Did you finish looking over the draft I sent you?

  Weird that he’s texting me now. Then again, there doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason where this guy is concerned.

  Indie: Was planning on sending it back tomorrow.

  Lincoln: Okay, don’t drop the ball.

  My brow furrows, and I unplug my phone so I can roll to my back and text him.

  Indie: I’m not dropping the ball. I just have a lot on my plate.

  Lincoln: Okay.

  For some reason, that doesn’t seem like an understanding okay.

  Indie: What are you not saying, Lincoln?

  Lincoln: Nothing. Good night.

  Indie: Oh no, there is something you’re holding back, so just say it.

  Lincoln: Fine. Seems like you have time to go on a date with Deacon, so there can’t be too much on your plate.

  My face flames with anger, and now I’m sitting up on my bed, typing away.

  Indie: You can’t be serious with that comment.

  Lincoln: Yeah, this shouldn’t be done via text. Just send it to me tomorrow and I’ll give it one more look through. Good night.

  Indie: You’ll get it tomorrow. Jesus. Don’t be an asshole, Lincoln.

  When he doesn’t reply, I growl in frustration and plug my phone back in to charge. Then I flop back on my bed and stare at the ceiling.

  What the hell was that?

  Chapter Ten

  LINCOLN

  “Didn’t expect to see you in here,” Asher says, coming into the ice room where I’m sitting in a metal tub full of ice, stewing in my own coldness.

  He grabs a bucket from the ice machine and starts filling it up.

  “Been working my legs harder. Needed to ice them down.”

  “Cool,” Asher says over the tumbling of ice. “Trying to hit ninety-five?”

  “Yeah. Clocked in at ninety-two today.”

  “So you must be doing something right.”

  “Or wrong,” I mutter, still feeling the boil of anger simmering at the base of my spine.

  “What do you mean by that?” Asher asks. He comes over to the ice bath right next to mine and pours his bucket of ice inside. Pushing his shorts down and taking his shirt off, he steps into the water and hisses while he lowers himself all the way down. “Fuck,” he says quietly.

  “Mean by what?” I can play dumb.

  “You’ve been doing something wrong.” He finally looks over at me. I can’t fucking lie to Asher, no matter how hard I want to, the guy has the most discerning eyes. They pierce right through you.

  “Man, I’m . . . fuck, I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

  “Does this have to do with Indie?”

  Jesus, am I really that transparent?

  “I wish it didn’t, but yeah, I think so. I’m just . . . I’m fucked in the head right now and I don’t know how to get my mental game straight. I had so much anger built up inside me today, it was propelling me off the mound. But I don’t work like that. I don’t allow anger to fuel my game.”

  “So, what happened then? In the last week, what made you all fucked in the head?”

  “I don’t think it’s been the last week. It’s been since before we came back to campus, ever since I met Indie. I feel so fucking uneasy. I don’t want a relationship, but I also can’t stop thinking about her, man.”

  “Sounds like you want a relationship.”

  “I don’t.” I shake my head. “I really don’t. And then I keep seeing her with Deacon, and that’s messing me up. I saw them hugging outside Deluca’s when I went to get the pizza for dinner. I felt like punching a hole through Deluca’s front door, and then that night I was a total ass through text message.”

  “Dude, it’s obvious, you want her.”

  “Yeah.” I push my wet hand through my hair. “I know.”

  “Okay, then go get her. Doesn’t seem like rocket science.” Everything is so black and white with Asher, but it’s not that simple.

  “Won’t work. For one, Deacon is into her.”

  “Hmm, yeah, that’s not favorable.”

  “Thanks.” I laugh and then dip my body lower into the water. That’s on me. I told the dude to pursue Indie. “Fuck, I just need to . . . I don’t know, put my attention into something else.”

  “Or somebody else,” Asher says as he winces and takes a deep breath, the cold probably reaching to his bones now. “Is there anyone who you might be able to hook up with that could be a fuck buddy? Get your mind off Indie?”

  I think about it and come up short. “Not really. I’ve never had that relationship with anyone. Have only really double-dipped maybe a handful of times.”

  “Have you tried using your hand? Works for me.”

  “How you’ve been able to hang out with your hand for so long is beyond me, man.”

  “Easier that way,” he says. “No complications. That’s why I’m over here with a clear mental game and you’re over there, suffering, hung up on a girl that you think you like but you don’t want to like that maybe likes you but doesn’t want to like you. Hell, man. It’s too much of a mouthful to even say at this point.”

  “And here I thought you’d be the helpful one out of all my friends.”

  He lifts his hand out of the water and waves it at me. “This was a very helpful suggestion.”

  “I already do that,” I say, lifting my hand as well. “And it seems to have increased lately.”

  “Nah, you got to pace yourself, man. If you do it too often, then the buildup isn’t as great.”

  I study Asher, intentionally study him, and ask, “Dude, you need to get laid if you think buildup with your hand is foreplay.”

  He scratches the side of his jaw. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “I know I am. The house party is tomorrow, so why not try to hook up with someone?”

  “Nah, you know that’s not my scene. I’ll be in my room with the door locked and my headphones on.”

  It’s true. I think there’s only been one time since I’ve known Asher that he’s gone to a party and had a few sips of a beer. After a drunk girl “stumbled” into him and fumbled with his cock, he was done.

  “This is our last year, man, so have some fun. After this, you’re going to be working your ass off in the minors, vying for a spot in prime time.”

  “Yeah, I can’t wait,” he says with hope in his eyes.

  Sighing, I say, “At least just sit out back with me for a bit. Have one beer.”

  He looks off to the side and sinks lower into the bath. “I’ll think about it, but only because I want to see you embarrass yourself with Mayhem.”

  “Thanks. You’re such a good friend.”

  “Anytime.” He smiles to himself. “She’s going to be there, right?”

  “Not sure, but if I were to guess, I’d say probably, and I bet she’ll be with Deacon.”

  “If that’s the case, maybe I’ll have that beer with you.” I pick up an ice cube and chuck it at him. He laughs and swats it away. “You’re going to have to work harder than that to peg me.”

  “Wait until our next scrimmage, I’ll make sure to nick you.”

  “Don’t doubt it.

  * * *

  The boom of the bass is thundering beneath my feet.

  The raucous sound of the student athlete population fills our house.

  I can smell the beer.

  And instead of hanging out downstairs, I’m pulling an Asher and waiting in my bedroom.

  I’m dressed. Put on a pair of jeans and a simple navy-blue shirt, nothing too crazy. My hair is styled and I spritzed some cologne on while I talked to my moms on the phone. Mama asked how my grades were doing and of course how my pursuit to ninety-five was coming along, and Mom, well, she was fixated on asking me about Indie. I finally told her she was seeing Deacon, one of my roommates. That shut her up really quick and I felt bad, because I heard the disappointment in her voice. I think she was convinced there was a love connection at Boondoggles, when in fact, it was more of an irritation.

  Claiming my attendance was needed at a small gathering—which I know they know is a lie—I told them I loved them and then hung up. That was half an hour ago. The party has started, I can hear Hutton downstairs yelling every time he scores in beer pong, and Rusty’s already starting to sing Karaoke, his deep, off-key voice trailing up the stairs. Katy Perry is his jam.

  Hartley has texted me a few times, asking where I am, and I keep texting back that I’ll be down there in a second.

  But I’m still holding out in my room.

  I don’t want to go downstairs and see Deacon with Indie. Are they holding hands? Have they kissed? Have they had sex?

  I’ve watched Deacon constantly like a stalker, seeing if he looked happier, because that’s a sure sign of a guy getting fucked—an ever-present smile. But the guy is already so goddamn happy all the time, I can’t tell if he’s just being himself or if he’s actually gotten anywhere with Indie.

  “Christ,” I mutter, pushing both hands through my hair and then pulling them back, sticking the strands on all ends.

  This shouldn’t matter.

  It doesn’t matter.

  I just need to convince myself that Indie was a temporary speed bump, but I’m moving on.

  “Come on, Castle,” I say into the mirror that hangs on my door. I straighten my hair out and then take a deep breath. “Mind over matter.”

  I open my door and follow the noise down the stairs where the living space is already crowded. That was quick.

  People call out my name and I toss around high fives while I make my way to the kitchen to grab a beer. That’s where I spot Asher and he’s not alone . . .

  Hold my dick while I gawk, because he’s actually talking to a girl.

  What the . . .

  A hand clasps me on the shoulder and I hear, “Dude, don’t stare, it might scare them.”

  Hartley hands me a beer as I ask, “Who’s the girl?”

  “No idea. I think she might be a roommate of one of the female athletes here. I haven’t seen her around the events center or training room.”

  She’s dressed in a yellow dress that looks like it’s made for Sunday school rather than for a party at an athlete’s house. “Who does she remind you of?”

  “An extremely shy version of Zooey Deschanel,” Hartley says without skipping a beat.

  I nod. “Yup, thank you, that would have driven me crazy.” I take a sip of my beer and glance around the kitchen. “How’s the rest of the party?”

  “Good. The freshmen are keeping a good . . . what the fuck?” Hartley yells, his voice angry. His eyes immediately go dark and his brow narrows as he stares at something . . . or someone across the room.

  “What, man?”

  “I told her not to fucking come to this.”

  “Who?”

  “Alice.”

  “Alice, as in Alice Taylor?”

  “Yup,” Hartley says. “I have to go take care of this.”

  I press my hand against Hartley’s chest. “Go easy on her, man. Don’t embarrass her.” But as I stare at Hartley’s face, I know my words are going in one ear and out the other.

  He pushes past me and goes to Alice who looks a little lost, but also excited to be here.

  Hartley has known Alice since they were infants. She’s the daughter of Jake Taylor, the greatest quarterback of all time, and she transferred this year. Jake personally asked Hartley to keep an eye on his baby girl.

  Apparently, Hartley is taking that request to heart.